


The Tempo of Raindrops

by CrowleyProtectionForce



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Crowley has chronic pain, Disabled!Crowley, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, I'm not projecting haha, M/M, author has chronic pain, aziraphale is a sweetheart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-25
Updated: 2019-06-25
Packaged: 2020-05-19 17:06:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19361101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrowleyProtectionForce/pseuds/CrowleyProtectionForce
Summary: “Oh, it must be bad today. I am so sorry, my dear.”“Yes, but it’s not that. It’s you. Well, not you, but your compassion, your selflessness, your kindness. You do so much for me. Do I really deserve this? Deserve you?”





	The Tempo of Raindrops

**Author's Note:**

> This can be read as a sequel to "Be Still, My Indelible Friend" but it can also be read alone. In addition, I’ve claimed Aziraphale as the patron saint of the disabled/those with chronic pain/spoonies so jot that down.

Low rumblings of thunder became violent claps that shook the earth. Rain pelted the city, obscuring each person behind a watery veil. The lights of the metropolis were smeared across the bustling streets. People scurried between the raindrops, turned inwards on themselves, unheeding. The sound of traffic was muffled behind the rain slamming into Crowley’s window. A grey dampness mixed with the scent of London and crept into the flat, soaking into each room. Dense clouds sagged within the skyline. The normally sparkling buildings stood colorless, blocks of grey in a grey city. The whole world, it seemed, had lost its saturation. Inside the flat was silent except for the steady breathing of its two inhabitants.

Aziraphale came to his senses gently. He heard the drumming at the window, breathed deep, and felt the rain. Even through closed eyes, he saw a bright flash illuminate the room. He flexed his fingers in the silk sheets, running his thumb over the smooth cloth. A crack of thunder tore through the room. He let go of the silk. He took deep breaths, purposeful and slow, feeling his chest rise and fall. Slowly, he reached out onto the bed, searching. _Ah_. A light smile graced his lips as his wandering hand found the other inhabitant of the bed. Aziraphale sighed as he pulled him close.

Crowley woke to a deep ache in both of his legs. They felt heavy and malformed, as if someone had replaced his bones with rusted scrap metal. Rain battered the window, keeping time with the throbbing in his hips. He took a deep breath and opened his eyes. Aziraphale’s arm was draped across his shoulders, holding him to the angel’s chest. Crowley dipped his head to press a chaste kiss to Aziraphale’s knuckles. Aziraphale hummed in response. Crowley turned so that he was facing the angel. The grey light of the morning made Aziraphale’s hair seem whiter than it was. _Angelic_. Crowley smiled as he studied Aziraphale’s face.

“Can we stay in bed today, angel? It’s not like we have anywhere to be,” Crowley asked, his voice slightly strained from the flare of pain. Sensing this, Aziraphale smiled back, “As you wish. But first, I’m going to make something for breakfast. Would you like some too? I’ll bring it back here and we’ll eat in bed.” Crowley sighed in relief, nodding. “Yeah, yeah I’d like that.”

Aziraphale pushed their blankets aside, stepped into slippers, and pulled on a robe. Crowley watched as he made his way to the kitchen. As Aziraphale began breakfast preparations, Crowley reflected on his decision to tell the angel about his pain. It hadn’t been much of a _decision_ -Aziraphale had found him in his flat almost unconscious and helped him through it. There had been some awkward dancing around the issue followed by overprotectiveness on Aziraphale’s part which quickly resulted in a shouting match. It wasn’t that Crowley didn’t appreciate the concern, it was just that he hated being pitied, especially by Aziraphale. So now Aziraphale kept a heating pad and some of Crowley’s medications at the bookshop and they avoided long walks. Crowley hated needing the extra care, but if it had to come from anyone, he wanted it to come from Aziraphale.

The high-pitched whistling of a kettle cut through the steady sound of rainfall and brought Crowley out of his thoughts. A few moments later, Aziraphale slid back into their bedroom holding a silver tray. He set it down at the edge of the bed and clambered in the other side. Crowley leaned forward gingerly to pull the tray up between the two of them. Aziraphale had made blueberry pancakes and Earl Grey tea. The scent of blueberries mingled with tea, pushing the two of them further away from sleep. The pancakes were stacked haphazardly on one plate, drizzled with syrup, and flanked by two sets of silverware. Aziraphale had set Crowley’s medication next to one of the teacups. “This looks great. You’re great, angel.” Crowley’s eyes shone with adoration.

Aziraphale took up a fork and dug into the first pancake on the stack. Through a mouthful of breakfast, he mumbled a thank you. They sat in comfortable silence, enjoying the sound of the rain and the taste of pancakes made from scratch. No conversation was required; after a few thousand years they had developed the ability to enjoy each other’s company in silence. Aziraphale closed his eyes with every bite, savoring the fluffiness of his work. Crowley shifted his legs under the blankets, trying to find a position that might offer comfort. When they finished, Aziraphale snapped his fingers and the dishes were cleaned and put away. Miracles made for half-decent pancakes, but the angel could rarely be bothered to manually wash his dishes. Crowley continued to move around under their blankets, desperate for any relief.

“My dear, would you like to come here?” Aziraphale sat against the headboard and opened his arms. Wordlessly, Crowley fell into him, resting his head on the angel’s chest. Aziraphale ran his fingers softly through Crowley’s hair, hoping to provide some comfort. Crowley matched his breathing with Aziraphale’s, feeling their chests rise and fall in unison. He leaned into Aziraphale’s warmth, which was comforting and familiar. Aziraphale began to speak and Crowley could feel the soft rumbling of his voice against his chest. He wasn’t speaking about anything in particular, just telling stories of various times throughout history that Crowley slept through. The scenes that Aziraphale painted were vivid and they danced before the demon’s eyes.

Slowly, slowly, Crowley felt the medication begin to work. It didn’t take all the pain away, but it did allow him some space to breathe. The oppressive cloud of pain began to lighten as Aziraphale continued to stroke his hair. They lapsed again into silence. The rain was still beating down on the city, accompainied by the occasional spark of lightning and crack of thunder. Crowley allowed his eyes to slide shut, sinking further into Aziraphale’s warm frame. The angel’s breathing was steady like the rain, his fingers were gentle as those first days in the Garden, before the sun knew its full power. His presence was a cool balm, soothing and shielding. A tear snuck out of Crowley’s eye, catching Aziraphale by surprise.

“Oh, it must be bad today. I am so sorry, my dear.”

“Yes, but it’s not that. It’s you. Well, not _you_ , but your compassion, your selflessness, your kindness. You do so much for me. Do I really deserve this? Deserve you?”

Aziraphale pulled Crowley away from his chest so that they were looking at each other. He held the fallen angel for a long moment before speaking, making sure to capture all of his face; high cheekbones, sharp jaw, strong nose, curved cheek, golden eyes, and slitted pupils.

“You are worth everything I could give you and more. I have studied the words of mortals since they began writing them down and I have not found words in any tongue that describe what I feel for you. If you needed a friend, a teacher, a nurse, a lover, an ally, an angel, a demon, anyone-I would be there. I love you, Crowley.”

Crowley continued to stare into Aziraphale’s eyes, lost in their otherwordly beauty. Lost in the thought that the angel, his angel, really did care for him. He reached a shaking hand up to the side of Aziraphale’s face, cupping his cheek. Aziraphale slid a hand on top of Crowley’s, squeezing them both. The scent of tea still lingered in the air between them. The sound of their breathing was loud; as if the rest of the world, even Above and Below, had simply washed away in the rain. Lightning flashed again, stirring them to movement. Aziraphale pulled Crowley back to him, holding his head with both hands and kissing his forehead with such devotion Crowley thought he would melt from the holiness of the action.

An eternity later, Aziraphale pulled Crowley away to look at him again. He didn’t see why Crowley had been cast out by God. The love and adoration shining in his eyes surpassed all of the angels Aziraphale had ever met. He traced the edge of Crowley’s jaw with his thumb, then the edge of his neck before resting his hand on Crowley’s shoulder. “I love you.” The ache in Crowley’s legs flared white-hot as he knelt up in bed, bracing both hands on Aziraphale’s shoulders. “Oh, angel. God help me. I’ll love you from the Garden to Armageddon. When the next phase of life Comes, they won’t measure Earth’s time in years, they’ll measure it in the ways I loved you.” The thunder rumbeled low and long as Aziraphale kissed him again.


End file.
